


hollow bones

by rc1788



Series: Veterinarian/Lumberjack SamBucky Modern AU [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, WinterFalcon - Freeform, fluffy?? and sexy???, sambucky - Freeform, sambucky au, tumblr collab, winterfalcon au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc1788/pseuds/rc1788
Summary: A modern AU where Sam is a veterinarian and Bucky is a plaid-wearing mountain man with a knack for finding sick and injured animals and keeps showing up at Sam's office for help. Sam develops a crush (because of course he does) and agrees to make a house call for an animal Bucky has found.





	hollow bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bioloyg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/gifts).



> If there's a record for taking the longest time to cross post something from tumblr, I think I've reached it??
> 
> This is 100% [zamnwilson's](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com) fault and 0% my fault for [this](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com/post/153836520845/real-quick) and [this](http://samwichwilson.tumblr.com/post/153838447666/zamnwilson-samwichwilson-zamnwilson).
> 
> I put a bonus scene at the end that I also wrote for tumblr, so enjoy!!
> 
> (as always, I'm on [tumblr](http://samwichwilson.tumblr.com) and I have a [writing sideblog](http://rogerbarnewilson.tumblr.com))

“She’s out here in the shelter. Didn’t want to freak out the chickens.”

Dr. Sam Wilson, DVM, watched as James Barnes (incomplete bachelor’s in zoology, probably) set off across the gravel driveway to reach a shack nestled under an oak tree. It’s the time of year just after autumn when the leaves turn brittle brown and the air hangs hollow and cold. The sky loomed with dark, swollen clouds heavy with snow. The news predicted a blizzard coming into town over the course of the evening, but they were never right.

Sam followed Barnes, careful not to scuff up his new shoes on the gravel, and he paused at the edge of the driveway. He heard something behind him and turned, startled to see a huge gray dog growling at him.

“Cool it, Frankie!” Barnes shouted at the dog.

The dog made another low growl before trotting off after Barnes.

“Wow,” Sam said, taking a tentative step into the wet grass. “Husky?”

“Malamute. He’s--he was my dad’s.”

“He’s pretty,” Sam remarked. Barnes traipsed on across the muddy yard toward the shack in his knee high rubber boots that were already caked in mud, the dog trotting alongside him with layers of gray and white fur bouncing.

Sam took a brief moment to recall why he came out to Barnes’s property before forcing himself to walk out into the muddy yard. Barnes called him up yesterday afternoon about a baby fox with a hurt leg, and he said it was too weak to bring into the office. Sam couldn’t volunteer fast enough to make a house call for Barnes.

The bearded, long-haired man showed up in Sam’s animal hospital about six months ago with a box of kittens that needed vetting, and every couple of weeks or so after that, the man kept bringing in sick or injured creatures, from puppies to possums. Not to mention the occasional feral cat Barnes trapped to bring in to get vaccinated and fixed. Sam found out that Barnes had just inherited a farm property outside of the city, and he also had a sixth sense for helping animals.

So far, the best was the pigeon.

“He’s missing all his toes,” Barnes said, holding the pigeon in both hands and a pout on his face in the waiting room. A man in a plaid flannel shirt dusted with barn hay and mud-caked boots with the city’s fattest pigeon in his hands was a sight Sam wouldn’t soon forget.

“Who’s gonna tell him?” Sam’s colleague Rhodes whispered.

“I’ll tell him.”

“Mr. Barnes,” Sam explained in one of the examination rooms, “pigeons are prone to deformities like that. It’s just one of the things about living in the city. They get hurt and lose some toes, but they get along okay. The one you got there, he looks pretty healthy, don’t you think?”

Barnes gently traced a thumb down the pigeon’s back and smiled. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Maybe it was the way Barnes seemed to care so damn much about every little creature he encountered that convinced Sam to do a house call for him. Maybe he admired the man for his dedication to animals when others would pity them or look the other way. Maybe Sam remembered a month ago when Barnes brought in a crow that got hit by a car, and tears welled in his eyes as the bird breathed its last breaths.

Sam blinked the memory out of his thoughts and caught up with Barnes. The soles of his loafers were not made for walking on wet ground, and it was a bit slippery, but he managed to cross the yard with only minimal splashing of mud on his pants. He adjusted the grip on the bag of supplies he brought with him, pausing with Barnes outside of the shack as he got out his keys and unlocked it.

“She got caught in a trap, I think,” Barnes went on. “Or a dog got her. I dunno.”

Barnes pushed open the door and said _shsshhh_. He flicked on a work lamp to reveal a gray fox kit wrapped up in blankets. Its beady eyes trailed over the newcomers before it hid under the covers.

“She’s really weak, and she won’t eat.” Barnes’s tone revealed utter defeat. Sam had to wonder how many animals he treated himself successfully outside of the ones he chose to bring in. Probably a lot.

Barnes helped hold the fox while Sam worked, cleaning the wound on its leg. He let Barnes feed it pedialyte from a dropper. The soft smile that crossed Barnes’s face as the fox lapped up the drops was almost angelic.

 _Stop it, Sam_.

“I think that’s the best we can do, for now. Keep her overnight. Give her a dose of electrolytes every four hours, and leave the door open for her tomorrow.”

“All right.” Barnes returned the fox to her blanket bed and got up as Sam cleaned up his supplies. “Thanks for coming all the way out here, Dr. Wilson.”

“Any time.” Wait. Sam felt himself slipping into casual conversation with someone who was supposed to be a customer. Aw, hell, he knew where the guy _lived_ now. “You can call me Sam,” the words tumbled out of his mouth, punctuated with a grin.

“Okay… Sam.” Barnes pushed his hair behind his ear. The man stood at six feet tall and wasn’t exactly _small_ , so Sam was trying to wrap his head around how he could accomplish doing something so cute. Totally unreal.

Maybe being occupied with these thoughts about James Barnes led to the following disaster: walking back across the yard, Sam’s foot caught in the mud, or a rock, or something, and before he knew it, he was tumbling to the ground. He might’ve shouted _shit!_ as it happened, which was definitely not professional, but either way he fell in the mud and definitely twisted his ankle.

“You okay, Sam?” Barnes asked, rushing over to him and kneeling down.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” Sam groaned. His back wasn’t doing too great, either. Or his pride. But Barnes called him “Sam” and even that was enough to distract him from the pain in his ankle.

Barnes helped Sam to his feet, and while Sam tried his best to convince himself and Barnes that he could walk, he couldn’t, and before Sam knew it, he was being _carried_.

“You really don’t have to--” Sam started.

“It’s okay, I got you!”

“But--”

“We just need to get you inside--”

Barnes kicked open his back door and carried Sam all the way inside, placing him almost effortlessly on the couch in his living room. Sam blinked. He couldn’t believe Barnes just carried him into his house and now he was sitting on Barnes’s couch. But Sam couldn’t allow himself to be awed by Barnes’s strong arms or bullheaded insistence to help him, because he needed to get his ankle wrapped so he could high-tail it back to the city.

“Oh, Sam,” Barnes lamented when they lifted his pant leg. “That looks… bad.”

“Shit,” Sam swore. His ankle was already swelling up like a balloon. And it was his right ankle, too, which was going to make driving home tricky. Sam touched it carefully. Not broken, probably. “I don’t have an ace bandage or anything for that.”

“Let me look. Be right back.”

Barnes disappeared down the hall, leaving Sam to take in the living room. The room looked like the inside of a log cabin, all hardwood, with the kind of rugged outdoors motif you’d find in some kitschy souvenir shop in Gatlinburg. Barnes had a fire going in the fireplace and a large area rug. There were boxes, some torn open and some closed up, and then Sam remembered Barnes telling him the property used to be his father’s. Sam didn’t know all the details about Barnes’s father’s passing, but he guessed from the way Barnes spoke that it had been sudden.

On the other side of the living room was a big archway into a dining space with a huge window, and from there Sam could see half a dozen bird feeders (which seemed excessive) and… snow. Huge, chunky snowflakes absolutely pouring down. Well, shit.

“This is all I got,” Barnes announced, presenting a beat up cardboard box that posed as a first aid kit. As they went through it to try and find bandages, Barnes sighed. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“For what? You didn’t make me trip all over myself.” Actually, that was a lie.

Barnes smiled, almost like he knew. Barnes sat on the edge of the footstool where Sam had his foot propped up. The man had physically carried Sam inside and now he was smiling and blushing and outright bashful.

“Listen, I could drive you back to your place and we can get your car sometime later this weekend,” Barnes offered.

“At the rate it’s snowing, you’d never get back here from the city.”

“Oh.” Barnes looked up at the window behind Sam and frowned. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then he grinned. “You can stay here, if you want.”

“Oh--I--”

“I mean--if that’s okay with you--”

“Yeah!” Too enthusiastic? Maybe. Sam needed to do something about that. “You get off on helping injured and helpless creatures, don’t you?”

“Injured and helpless creatures like _you_?” Barnes replied with a quirked brow.

Sam’s nose scrunched and he shrugged in defeat. Barnes laughed and got up, saying something about _settling in_.

The snow fell steadily outside and Barnes was more than accommodating for Sam’s stay--his muddy dress pants and shirt were swapped out for some of Barnes’s extra clothes. Sam practically swam in one of the man’s sweaters. He thought going to the gym two days a week had really made a difference for him. Dammit. Barnes must lift all kinds of heavy stuff at his farm--and chop a lot of firewood, judging by the stash by the fireplace.

They got to talking, and it was never an option to distract from each other’s company by turning on the TV. Hours passed. Even with some ibuprofen and ice, Sam’s ankle was still black and blue and too painful to stand on. But he didn’t care as long as Barnes didn’t. Sam got to learn a lot about him--he wasn’t from the area, at all, and this family plot belonged to his grandparents, then his dad. He spent most of his time caring for the animals his dad left behind and going through the house--two generations worth of stuff. Sam, meanwhile, didn’t have that much to talk about--he grew up in the city and went to veterinary school in the midwest, and moved back to work at the vet office where he met Barnes.

The sun went down and the house got dark, except for a light from the hall, and the fireplace, which Barnes kept roaring with more firewood. Eventually, Barnes got out a bottle of whiskey and two mugs.

Sam never drank whiskey. He liked white wine and sugary cocktails. Maybe the occasional light beer. Barnes poured some whiskey into his mug, the thought never crossing his mind that Sam didn’t drink straight liquor. Gave him too much credit.

“Cheers,” Sam said with a smirk, and drank. Coughed immediately. His whole mouth was on fire.

“Whoa there, you better just sip it!”

They laughed. For being so quiet all the time, Barnes had a beautiful smile and a loud laugh. Or maybe it was just the whiskey talking.

“Y’know, this whole cabin in the woods thing, this is the start of a bad horror movie,” Sam told Barnes.

Barnes laughed even more. “Why? Cuz I’m the weird mountain man? That’s no fair.”

“You’re right. You’ve saved about eight too many kittens to be an axe murderer.”

The whiskey hit Sam like a truck. He was a giggling mess in less than an hour. Barnes kept refreshing both of their glasses, his own face a nice shade of pink from drinking.

“Listen, full disclosure,” said Barnes, turning to face Sam. He sat with his legs curled under him, all snuggled down in the couch cushions. “I kinda wanted to hang out with you after the second time we met.”

“Oh yeah?” Heat rose into Sam’s face and he stared at Barnes with interest, already noting how damn cuddly he looked.

“Yeah… that was the time I made sure you had my number. And you totally blew me off.”

“Blew you off! No way!”

“Yes, you did! You were like--” and Barnes changed his voice to “deep and authoritative,” “--’I’ll update your file.’”

Sam snorted, then he full on snickered. “Oops.”

“I had just moved here and I didn’t have any friends, and you seemed cool. But then you went full on stuck-up professional on me!”

Sam kept laughing and lightly hit Barnes on the arm. “Sorry!”

Barnes grinned but he had this fire in his eyes like he was still salty about it. “I even said you could call me Bucky and you literally went, ‘Okay, Mr. Barnes.’ What the fuck, man!”

The whiskey made Sam tip over and land on Barnes. “Bucky? What?”

“Yeah, that’s what I go by! Bucky! Shit, are you even listening?”

Sam looked up at Bucky. His head rested on Bucky’s shoulder. He smelled like firewood and stale cigarettes and wet soil. He wasn’t Sam’s type, at all, but Sam wanted to kiss the smirk off of his stupid pretty lips.

“Hey,” said Sam, noticing too late that Bucky slid an arm around him. “I think… I got scared, after… after you brought in that crow…”

“What crow?” Bucky asked softly. He knew, he just didn’t want to admit it.

“The one that died. You…” Sam pursed his lips. “You were sad.”

“Of course I was sad. It died. What d’you mean, you were ‘scared’?”

Bucky’s outright denial of what happened was a fortified defense against the fact that Sam watched Bucky cry--choke back half a sob, sniff, and suck it up so he could leave the office in one piece. That was when Sam knew he liked Bucky-- _really_ liked Bucky--and he had to wait a whole two weeks for him to show up again with another feral cat. Two weeks in the office seeing patients and wondering when Barnes was gonna arrive unannounced with those sad blue eyes and an animal in need.

Out of everyone Sam saw at the office--all animal lovers in their own right--nobody went out of their way to help the way Barnes did, and no one _felt_ the way Barnes did when that crow died. No one except Sam. He’d never met anybody like Bucky Barnes. Those two weeks were the longest span of time without a visit, and Sam found himself getting easily frustrated, absolutely cranky toward the end of the two weeks, like his whole world wasn’t quite right without the stupid flannel-clad animal lover.

It was a lot to take in for him, even now, sitting on said do-gooder’s couch, and in his arms.

“I like you,” Sam said. “I’ve liked you for a while.”

“Well, shit, you could’ve said something. It’s pretty damn lonely out here.”

The sad thing, Sam recalled, that it wasn’t even Sam himself who noticed how much he needed Barnes around. It was Rhodes.

“You’re being a real asshole, y’know,” Rhodes told him one day. “Is it cuz your boyfriend hasn’t shown up in a while?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Y’know, the Ron Swanson-lookin’ guy. Pigeon guy.”

“He’s--hardly my--he’s just kinda cool.” Sam threw his pen at Rhodey.

“Every time he’s in here you swoop in before anybody else can help him, and the two of you just carry on like you’re on a coffee date.” Rhodey threw the pen back at him and nailed him on the side of his face.

“Whatever, man.” Rhodey was always trying to hook him up with somebody, and Sam wasn’t going to admit for a second in front of him that he liked Barnes.

Sam inhaled sharply, swallowed back his doubts. Bucky’s face was suddenly very close to his. He smelled the whiskey on his breath. “Lonely, huh?” Sam murmured.

“Yeah, since I can’t even pick up the vet, you think anybody’s lining up for this?”

“Shit. Shut up, man.” Sam pushed himself up and kissed Bucky, cupped the side of his face with his hand. Bucky’s beard was rough against the inside of Sam’s hand, an intoxicating sensation, almost as much as the feeling of Bucky’s tongue invading his mouth.

“Mm,” Bucky pulled away for a second and squinted at him. “You can’t hold your liquor. Shit.”

“Huh?”

“You’re drunk.”

“No m’not.” Sam’s protest only further proved Bucky’s point.

“We can’t…”

Sam wet his lower lip. “Who says we were going to?”

“Well--”

“Now I _want to_.”

Bucky’s eyes trailed over Sam’s face, and down. Sam let out a frustrated grunt and kissed him again, and Bucky let his lips his distract him for only a few seconds before he pulled back. “Okay, yeah,” he breathed. “But if you want to stop--”

“I won’t.”

“But _if you change your mind_ , we can stop.”

“Shut up and kiss me, damn it.”

After one of Barnes’s visits, Sam couldn’t stand it anymore. It was the end of the day and he left the office to go home. The whole drive back, he thought about the way Barnes looked with his long hair tied back, and the tshirt he wore under his buffalo print coat that was too tight for him. Thank god the cat Barnes brought was a howling, scratching handful so Sam wasn’t caught gawking at him during the whole appointment. But driving home, alone with his thoughts, he had to practically sprint up to his apartment to wipe his mind of all the unsavory thoughts about Barnes. Sam allowed himself the self-indulgent jerk off while thinking about Barnes, then he knew he could go on with his life and stop being ridiculous over the “lumberjack looking idiot.”

It was easy at the time to brush it off for being lonely--because Sam was lonely, dammit--but it was even easier to tell himself that he didn't have a chance with Barnes. A guy like him could have anybody in the city if they saw the look he gets on his face when he takes home a cured animal.

Or maybe it was just Sam that noticed.

Bucky’s hands were almost chaste, clutching his arms, and Sam grabbed one of his wrists and moved it to his side. “You shy?” Sam asked.

“No.” Bucky leaned on him, tried to push Sam on his back, his arm wrapping around Sam’s middle and cup the back of his head before he hit the seat cushion. Now Bucky was lying on top of him, the weight of his body on Sam’s just delightful. “It's...been a while for me.”

Sam snorted and tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “Don't worry.”

“I'm not.” As if to prove his point, Bucky put his hand right on Sam’s dick. Sam gasped--he was only wearing thin sweatpants and he wasn't at all shy about how aroused he was--but he hadn't been expecting Bucky to touch him right away.

Bucky dipped his head and kissed him again, forcing his way past Sam’s lips and kissing so hot and sloppy that Sam went from wanting to tease him to wanting to get obliterated by him instead. Sam's own hands went to work tugging at Bucky’s hair while the other got at his belt. Too greedy and impatient, Sam abandoned the task and cupped between Bucky’s legs. Sam smirked into the kiss when he felt Bucky’s hard dick pressed against denim.

“C’mon,” Bucky grunted. Sam knew it had been too long since his last romp because Bucky rubbing his dick over his pants was almost enough to get him off.

“Okay, shit,” Sam teased. He put his full attention on undoing Bucky's pants, then--because he liked to do things in order--he pushed Bucky’s plaid shirt off his shoulders and tugged the tshirt over his head.

Bucky was every ounce of beautiful Sam imagined, his broad chest and shoulders untouched by any kind of _manscaping_ \--and thank god, because Bucky looked even better in person than Sam could ever imagine.

“Fuck, you look good,” Sam told him.

Backlit by the fire, Bucky’s expression was a little hard to read, but the smirk that twisted Bucky's lips was nothing but devilish. He whipped off Sam’s--or his, rather--sweater and tossed it to the floor, followed quickly by his pants and boxers. Bucky carefully got the sweatpants over Sam’s sprained ankle and then he surveyed his progress.

“Oh damn,” he breathed, wetting his lips. He gently moved Sam's legs apart and raked his teeth over his bottom lip and the sight of him like that, completely open to him, and Sam gave him a _get on with it_ look. Bucky leaned down and placed a trail of open mouthed kisses up the inside of Sam’s thigh. Bucky took careful note with each kiss as goosebumps bloomed over Sam’s skin, and Sam hummed with the feel of his mouth on his skin. Bucky dragged his tongue over the creases where Sam's thigh met his hip, then he swallowed up Sam’s dick.

“Shit. _God_ ,” Sam swore as Bucky sucked and sucked. His tongue swirled over the tip and Sam had to consciously bring himself back down from almost coming in Bucky's mouth. The things this man’s mouth did for him were otherworldly. Better than anybody Sam ever had.

“You like that?” Bucky purred, looking up at him through a curtain of messy strands of hair. He wrapped his hand around Sam and gave him another stroke.

“I've never gotten head like that before. Shit.” Sam released the fistful of blanket he'd been clutching to keep him grounded.

Bucky chuckled softly and reached under the couch, fishing around until he produced a small bottle of lube.

“Oh you gotta be kidding me,” Sam breathed out a laugh. “What a Boy Scout. Always prepared.”

“I live alone.” Bucky felt around his pants on the floor and got a condom out of his wallet. “I can do whatever I want.”

Sam pushed himself up on his elbows and raised an eyebrow at him. “Then do it.”

Bucky wet his fingers and worked Sam open like he'd been practicing for years at it. Maybe he was lying when he acted like he hadn't gotten any action. Or maybe it really had been so long since Sam had been touched. Either way, Sam was a quivering mess by the time Bucky had opened him up.

Bucky's face hovered over Sam’s because he liked watching his handiwork on Sam's brow, the way he'd broken into a hot sweat. “God, you're pretty.” Bucky grabbed Sam’s sides and started turning him over.

Sam flipped onto his stomach and let out a moan as Bucky wasted no time getting to fucking him. Christ, Sam had only caught a glimpse of Bucky’s dick before he got to work, but he was so filled up with him when he bottomed out that Sam’s eyes teared up and he was seeing stars.

He fucked slow and steady first, dragging his dick in and out of Sam, clutching his hips with his rough hands. Sam keened when Bucky found the right angle, and as if he'd been waiting for it, Bucky fucked him hard at just the right speed to get Sam off embarrassingly quick.

“Goddamn,” Bucky swore over the sound of his thighs smacking against Sam’s ass. His hands roamed over Sam’s back, feeling up his shoulders and pulling him up against his chest just as he came inside him. He held him there and Sam reveled in the feel of Bucky's chest heaving against his back.

They both cursed and collapsed into a pile on the couch, Bucky still on top of Sam. Sam discarded the soiled blanket on the floor and twisted under Bucky so they were facing each other. Sam raked his fingers through Bucky's hair and pulled the sweat-soaked strands out of his face so Sam could kiss him all over. Bucky smiled and soaked up all the affection, both of them spent and sated and wrapped up in each other and the heat of their bodies and the fireplace.

“We should have done that months ago,” Sam said, then he kissed Bucky on the chin, feeling the sting of his scruff against his lips.

“You're damn right. You don't end every house call like this, do you?”

“Hell no. Just with bearded do-gooders that never make appointments.”

“Shut up.” Bucky lowered himself down next to Sam and clung to him. “Or don't. We're probably stuck together for at least another day.”

“Aww, no,” Sam said dramatically. “Sounds like an awful way to spend the weekend.”

“You wanna sleep outside with the dog, Doc?”

“Fuck you, Barnes.”

“Mmhmm. Maybe again, but later.”

* * *

 

_Four weeks later_

“Sorry, Buck. I gotta cancel tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Somebody found a litter of two day old puppies in a dumpster.”

“ _What the fuck_. Where are you?”

“Home. You wanna... God, why am I even asking? You’re getting in your car right now, aren’t you?”

“YES I AM.”

Within the hour, Sam hears Bucky outside his apartment fiddling with his keys, and Sam grins when Bucky let himself in. “Hey, man.”

Bucky throws his bag on the floor and kicks the door shut behind him with his heel. He looks like he’s on a mission when he asks in all seriousness: “Where are the trash babies?”

The seven puppies are huddled in a box filled with blankets in Sam’s living room with a space heater. Sam’s holding one in his lap and feeding it from a dropper. “Good to see you too. C’mon.”

They feed each puppy and Sam resets the clock to go off in another two hours so they can be fed again. Bucky goes about naming all seven pups.

“This one looks like a Jeremiah.” Bucky holds the wiggly puppy up to his face for a second before setting it back down in the blankets. Then the next one. “This one is Waffle.”

“You can’t name one Jeremiah, and another one Waffle. Either they all get goofy names or they all get respectable names.”

“Waffle,” Bucky repeats, and gets the next one. “Prince Harry.”

“Fuck you, man,” Sam chuckles.

“What kinda dogs are they?”

“Hell if I know. They all look like chicken nuggets to me right now.”

Bucky smiles and pets one on the head with the tip of his finger. “Joebama.”

“ _Bucky_.”

“Okay, you name the rest.”

Sam exhales and looks at the last three puppies. He shrugs his shoulders. “Phoebe, Prue, and Piper.”

“Are those... is that _Charmed_?”

“Yup.”

Bucky stifles a loud cackle so as to not disturb the sleepy trash babies, holding his sides and snickering. “You’re a dork.”

Sam wads up a towel and throws it at him. “Glass houses, Barnes.”


End file.
